


Something Furry Rough And Wild

by FyrMaiden



Category: Glee
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine's daughter loves them, but they're - they can be *a lot*.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Furry Rough And Wild

Raffaëla Anderson-Hummel has, she’s pretty sure, got the most embarrassing parents known to man. And pretty much the rest of the world as well. In fact, definitely the rest of the world. The man next door probably doesn’t care who they are half as much as the strangers on the internet do. The guy next door probably wants to cut the strings on their stupid piano more than he cares about hearing the eighty fourth ridiculous version of their “love story for the ages” (who writes this shit, oh my god).

When she’s feeling generous she’ll admit that when she was 5, the stuff they still think is cute probably was. She was all round faced and sweet as hell, her eyes huge in her cheeky little face, too much hair an almost untameable mess most of the time, with an almost constant smile. She was a cute kid, and it made the Festive Holiday Sweaters and the Festive Holiday Hairbows, and the Festive Holiday Instagram actually pretty cool. It was, as far as she remembers, fun, posing on the steps outside with Rachel’s kid balanced in her lap for just about long enough to snap a picture before both of them were rescued from an untimely demise or, more probably, stressed, fraught, endless childhood tears and her parents staring at one another, silently communicating it was the other’s turn to deal with the snot and the angry board of a child who didn’t want to be cuddled but did want to be consoled. It was all new when she was five.

The thing is, though, she’s not five anymore.

At 15, the Festive Holiday Sweaters - capital letters more than earned, she’s done her time and they need to let it go - aren’t anywhere near as cute. She looks like Rachel in all of her worst high school outfits. She looks like they plucked her out of late 2009 and like, no one - literally no one - thinks it’s cute anymore, the 10K plus little orange hearts on her Dad’s instagram be damned.

And also, no amount of Festive Holiday Singalongs are going to make her a singer. She can carry a tune, but she’s not passionate about it. She doesn’t want to stand by the piano like Rosemary Clooney in her Dad’s Stupid Festive Holiday Movies. She’d mostly like to go back to her room, close her door against the party, and build playlists on Spotify of obnoxiously obscure indie bands that her Pop says he enjoys and then sends her suggestions that she might like as well. Like, he’s not even wrong, it’s just - annoying. Her parents are the actual worst. Like, the actual worst. It’s like that year she discovered soul, and he sent her a whole list of artists she might enjoy, and then took her to see one of his friends in concert because she was in town. (And okay, that was really nice of him. She enjoyed that. But the fact remains, she’s not a singer. She just really enjoys the sound. Part of her knows that her Pop gets that, but she’s 15 and she doesn’t think her understands that fifteen is hard.)

So it’s Thanksgiving, and it’s Festive Holiday Sweater time. This year, she has decided - after careful consideration and much research - that she’s vegan. Her parents sigh and look at one another, and her Dad calls Rachel because it’s been two decades since he’s had to deal with vegan cookery for a meal as big as this one. Between the three of them - her dads and Rachel - they cope. She wears the stupid reindeer sweater and the stupid headband, and her Festive Holiday Scowl entertains her dads for far longer than it’s actually funny.

Thing is though, beneath it all, underneath the affected exasperation, she loves them to death. They’re - they’re a lot, and she knows she’s probably not exactly what they hoped for, and she does love how invested they are in her, and she does enjoy their stuff - their shows, and their love, and the way the cogs of their lives continue to turn so in tune with one another. She loves them a lot.

But she also wishes she knew how to tell them that she understands their passion for the arts, and for how important the arts are, but she’d also really like to skip piano because she has math she needs to finish, and chemistry she still needs to start, and those are the thing she’s actually genuinely good at.

And that all the good will in the world is not going to make her a singer.


End file.
